Summary: Nile wakes in the trunk of a car.
Warnings: Brief descriptions of cannon-typical violence and violence against women. Canon slash
Disclaimer: I own nothing, just enjoy the hell out of these characters.
The wool-like texture of the trunk's interior carpeting scratches against the side of her face. It's the first sensation that awakens her. The second is the uncomfortable tightness localized in her shoulders. She startles, realizing it's because her hands are tied behind her back. The tightness blossoms into a full blown burning ache. They've been that way for a long time. The phantom memory of something hard and plastic striking against the back of her skull blazons its way to the forefront of Nile's memory; aided by the sudden, irritating itch of dry blood along the back of her scalp. It probably should worry her that that was the most familiar sensation in this whole fucked up scenario. With a grunt of effort, she twists over, managing to flip herself around and onto her back with a faint groan. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she gives her eyes a moment to adjust. The trunk is empty but for her and the dim red of the car's taillights flash brightly above her. She feels the car's momentum slow beneath her before the vehicle swings sharply right, heading for a destination unknown.
Fuck. She thinks. Motherfucking fuck, fuck, fuck. The voice in her head sounds exactly like Andy; but it's the memory of an Irishman laughing at the utility of the word which next comes irrationally to mind. There'd been a brief phase a few years ago (right before she'd shipped out for basic) when her brother was obsessed with The Boondock Saints. The phase had lasted a week and ended abruptly when their mom, annoyed by the movie's constant cursing, swore up and down it would never be played in her house again. The memory brought with it an ache all its own.
Scowling at herself, Nile looks between the two taillights, judging the left one to be closer. She shuffles towards it, closing the gap and beginning to kick in earnest. A few hard, precise blows and the red, glass-like material falls away easily. Twisting back onto her side, she flexes her fingers, feeling nothing but resistance from her bindings. Duct tape? Possibly. Maybe electrical. Whoever had tied her up knew what they were doing. She wasn't getting out of these bindings anytime soon. Angling herself so she could see out the broken taillight, all she finds nothing but empty road stretching back into darkness before her. They were far outside the city limits now, and this was not good.
Immediately following her one-man siege of Merrick Laboratories, her first free days of immortality were little more than a passing blur for Nile. Between Booker's exile and Copley's conscription, the rest of her energy became almost entirely dedicated to helping Andy tend to and learn to avoid the growing number of injuries collected amid the constant turn-over of safe-house locations. For as well as the ancient, former-immortal (and the others who followed her), could hide in plain sight, millennia of constant healing brought with it a disregard for the tiny wounds collected in the every-day minutia. Something as simple as bumping up too hard into a wall could now end in a bruise rather than an unnoticed, temporary inconvenience. In the span of that first week, Andy had (by sheer lack of practice) collected more than just a few. As the only one raised in the current century, Nile found herself unofficially appointed the role of Andy's guru/nurse with Joe and Nicky acquiescing easily to her, albeit limited, modern medical expertise. In a way, it was exactly what they all needed. A quick excuse to ease the natural awkwardness of transitioning a new member into the unit.
Nile estimated their awkward adjustment period was finally over when she at last picked up on Nicky and Joe's odd behavior. At first glance, she wrote off the lack of too much physical distance between the pair as simply a consequence of being centuries together. Andy never commented; and, honestly, it was too big a concept for Nile to even want to try and comprehend. It was easier to assume it must be normal. But then she got to know them, hear about them from them. Something not neatly classified into words began to tug at her instincts. For instance, in spite of the many, many times the pair would disappeared off somewhere (clearly to have sex), they rarely, if ever, stood or sat more than a hairsbreadth away from the other even during downtime. Nile could count on one hand the exact number of times she'd interacted with one of them as a solo act. True, they made a good show of hiding it; but in hiding it eventually only drew her attention.
It didn't take long after for Nile to piece together what she was sensing. The shared community of the safe-house didn't exactly lend itself to trauma processing, especially considering recent events. Hell, if anything like what had happened to the pair had happened to her when she was still a Marine (and mortal), she'd be on the first carrier home. Nile supposed, with a lack of home to escape back to, the least the two men deserved was a vacation.
It was a month and a half later when Joe, of all people, finally proposed the same solution. Sitting at the dinner table, he framed it as a means to aid Copley; apparently having discussed with the man that afternoon a plan to forge a series of false trails should someone manage to pick up the last of Merrick's fading breadcrumbs. He suggested that while Nicky and he head to Malta, Nile and Andy could make their way through the US or Canada. They could meet back up at the Sobu safe-house in Tokyo in two weeks time. Nile spotted a brief smile skirt along Andy's face at the mention of Malta, informing her that some inside joke had been given without explanation. She was halfway through deciding if she should even bother to ask what the joke was when their boss flatly refused his request.
"Nile and I aren't flying over halfway around the world so you two can have a twentieth honeymoon." Andy stated bluntly, purposefully moderating the amount of vodka poured into her coffee mug. "We stick together."
Nicky caught Nile's eye from across the table. They exchanged a brief look of mutually exasperated fondness before his expression dropped into something more serious. His eyes flickered to Andy and then back to her. Wordlessly, she read his request. Help us convince her. Please. Next to him, Joe let out a frustrated sigh as he settled back into his seat. "Copley asked us help him with this, Boss."
Andy raised her head to meet his gaze and Nile was surprised to see something undefined momentarily war for dominance in her expression. Before she had the chance to decipher it, though, the look was summarily muted as Andy took a sip of her drink. "There a reason he can't do it himself?"
Nile turned back to Joe, curious what his answer would be. It had become quickly apparent early on just how much the three had depended on Booker when it came to the topic of electronics, surveillance, and electronic surveillance. With the discovery of how he'd used his unique skills to plot openly with Copley behind their backs, Joe had practically made it a personal mission to become better educated with the spy game of the 21st century. First, he'd covered the basics with Nile. Then, when she couldn't show him more, made the outreach to Copley for more information. He was, surprisingly, a quick study at it.
Thinking about Booker left an odd, empty sensation along the inside of Nile's chest. On one hand, she was as mad as any of them for his betrayal; even if it was only in an abstract, principles sort of way. Okay, she was still pissed about getting shot at...a lot. Not to mention being forced to jump off a twenty story building. She absolutely hated heights.
On the other, it wasn't the first time she'd wondered if his exile meant she herself might be missing some necessary bonding time with someone close to her age. It was still hard to wrap her mind around. That in the grand scheme of things, some guy who died fighting with Napoleon likely shared more of her life experience than the people she was currently eating dinner with. Sometimes, something someone on the team did or said would reminded her of her old life and, when she relayed said experience, they would all get the same pitying look in their eyes. Like they knew it was important to relate, but they couldn't quite remember how. That it had been so long since any of them had walked in her shoes. In the grand scheme of things, she supposed, two-hundred year really wasn't that big of an age difference. She'd been supposing a lot lately.
"According to him every shell game needs its pea." Joe crossed his arms and gave a little shrug. "Or, in this case peas."
Andy's jaw tightened slightly as she deliberated his words. She deliberated for a while. Long enough for Nile's attention to drift back to the risotto on her plate, still impressed that Nicky had magically conjured something so delicious from a space which barely qualified as a kitchen.
"She's not ready." Andy said softly, causing Nile's head to snap up in her direction. Andy wasn't looking at her.
"Not ready for what?" she asked, keeping her tone deceptively light. It didn't fool a single one of them but she still took a sip of water from her glass. Three pairs of eyes shared what she was, in the privacy of her own thoughts, beginning to nickname their Granny Gaze. It was the kind of look that spoke benignly to the superiority of age and experience and, pointedly, did not often include her. She was already starting to hate that look.
"She didn't mean anything by it, Nile." Nicky said, the first to pick up on her irritation. "It's just we've been in your position before."
"Traveling home took a lot longer back when we died than it does today." Joe added, squeezing his lover's hand gently above the table. Ah, she thought, So that's what this is about.
"Yeah, well. It's not like I can avoid the U.S. forever."
"Could be interesting to see you try."
It was Facebook, of all things, that finally broke her.
Browsing social media, late at night, in a New York hotel room, with Andy snoring softly in the bed next to her. The others hadn't known, but she'd lost half the battle a mere two weeks after London. Deciding that, even if she couldn't physically be with her family anymore, the 21st century offered the option to keep a distant, anonymous eye over them instead. A few fake profiles and she was friended or subscribed to all her brother's various accounts. Who knew? Perhaps she could even keep this up over the centuries. Become the mysterious benefactor to her family's line. Though the source of her brother's possible descendants was not a topic she ever wanted to think about.
The post in question was a request for donations to the Wounded Warrior Project. Donations to be made in her and their father's names. It was the first thing to pop up on her feed following his acceptance of her friend request. The sight of it made her blood run cold.
True to his word, Copley had altered the records so she'd been killed in action mid-transfer from the base. An I.E.D hit the Hummer she'd (supposedly) been riding in, blowing the thing to pieces. No survivors. Her body, or someone's, Nile didn't really want to know the details, had been recovered. Identified by her uniform and false dog tags, but deemed too damaged for an open casket service. It hurt to think it was the second such funeral her mother and brother had been forced to sit through.
"You okay, kid?" Andy's voice shook her from her thoughts. She had woken silently, turning over to prop her head up against her pillow. She was watching Nile closely now, eyes soft and mouth locked in a thin, concerned line.
"Yeah." Nile answered, letting out the breathe she didn't know she'd been holding. "I'm good."
She closed the laptop. She wanted to go home. It wasn't something she was ready to say aloud yet.
The car began to slow to a stop. Adrenaline spikes through Nile's veins. Her breathing quickens. She's afraid. Why the hell is she so afraid? It isn't like this is the first time she's woken up in a trunk anymore. Andy pretty much checked that trauma off her non-existent bucket list. It isn't even like this...guy could really kill her in the first place, No matter how much he tried. Just because we keep living doesn't mean we don't stop hurting. Booker's voice answers the question for her. She's never wanted to punch someone more in her life.
She struggles to align herself parallel to the trunk door, making sure her legs are free to kick up at her assailant the minute he opens it. Kick, tumble, run. She'll worry about the lack of feeling in her hands later. Right now, her main focus is getting away and getting away alive. If she dies and comes back, there will be questions. Immortality isn't just her secret to keep. The car comes to a complete stop. Music rumbles, sudden and audible, through the seat behind her. Nothing moves and all Nile can do is wait.
She thinks about Quynh in her iron coffin.
To be entirely fair, she hadn't intended to leave Andy behind. Andy's flight was supposed to change over in Chicago while hers was supposed to end up in Dallas. Something got mixed up along the way and by the time they realized it, it was too late to do anything about it. She would have caught the next flight, too, if it hadn't been for the news report at the terminal catching her attention. The victim's remains, the last in a string of four recent kidnappings and homicides, had been recovered in some cornfield in the middle of central Illinois. She'd been bludgeoned to death, likely soon after her disappearance. The police were finally announcing the intent to label the crime as consistent with the pattern for a serial murder. The victim had barely lived a mile from her mother's apartment building.
To this day, Nile wouldn't be able to explain you what it was about that news report that set her off. Maybe it was part of her transition from soldier and aspiring art student to member of an immortal mercenary group trying to do some good in the world. Her trial by fire fundamentally altering the way she viewed the world and her response to injustices in it. Maybe it was the uncomfortable resemblance she could see in faces she had never met. At some point or other, the victim and the three other woman had lived in the same place she once called home. Maybe it was simply the idea of another asshole terrorizing the community she grew up in, the one she could never return back to, was something she could no longer afford to stomach. Not when she had the ability to do something about it.
It was surprisingly easy how far things like sunglasses, non-brand clothing, and being out of the country for the past four- five months made it for her to blend back into the familiar streets of Chicago. The old neighborhood had certainly seen better days and, stepping back into it, she momentarily considered moving her mother to the safety of the suburbs. Not that that was every gonna happen, mind you, and it wasn't because she couldn't afford it now. One of the last things Booker did before ceasing all contact was begin to set up access to an account in her name. He, or one of the others, eventually transferred a hefty "starting salary" into the account for her. Money was no longer the issue. She just knew her mom. Knew how important it was for her to work for everything she got. Knew she would look that kind of gift-horse squarely in the mouth.
The hard part turned out to be balancing her hunt with the knowledge Andy was at most a day behind her. Nile had no doubt the world's O.G. Warrior Princess would not be thrilled by her newest soldier going AWOL from a mission in her home city. Especially not on a mission Andy hadn't wanted to go on in the first place. Copley had already changed the records, so if Nile was caught there'd be too much to explain. Too much risk of exposure. At best, she figured she had three days max. One day for Joe and Nicky to extricate themselves from each other long enough to remain descent in public. Two for them to catch up to Andy. And probably less than a day for the three of them to track her down together. So Nile took a page from the boss' handbook. Go big or go home. Throwing caution to the wind, she knocked on every door in the neighborhood not part of her mother's building or neighbors she was certain would recognize her. Gave her alias and phone number out to as many strangers as she could. Made sure to frequent the club every night where three of the four women were last seen. All told, her search seemed to prove as fruitless as the cops' despite surprisingly lasting a week without interruption. A nagging feeling she should have at least heard from the others by now was just beginning to gnaw at her stomach a bit. She'd planned to finally call tonight, just to make sure everything was fine and they hadn't been kidnapped or tortured again. She just needed to get back to her cash-only motel room first.
Destiny, it seemed, had other plans for her.
"What the hell?" A male voice mutters through the cushion of the car seat and over the din of the radio. The sound of music fades as the ignition turns off, the driver's side door opening a moment later. Nile tenses, game face at the ready. She might die for all the effort of this attempt, but it would only be temporary and she is going to make this bastard fight for every inch of ground gained. The only thing she's not expecting is to immediately hear the sound of struggling as the car door slams shut. Something cracks hard against a window and the car momentarily shakes as a muffled grunt sounds outside the trunk. She thinks she hears multiple footsteps outside, and considers shouting to let them know where she is; but she has no intel. No information if they are friend or foe. Something large slams against metal hood above her.
"I said open the hood."
"Andy?" Nile breathes. Then, shouts. "Andy! Andy I'm in here!"
She gives the hood one good kick before it opens. The beam of a mag-light momentarily blinds her. When her vision clears, she finds Joe grinning down at her like an idiot.
"You know it's the bad guys who are supposed to be sitting back here, right?" he asks, grinning wider as she glowers back at him.
She begins to sit up and his hand is there to steady her with the other making quick work of her bonds. Finally free of the trunk, she takes a second to get her bearings and draw in a breath of cool, fresh air. She's standing in another cornfield, trimmed for harvest, with the glow of small town lights far off to her distant right. No one would have heard her put up a fight out here. A second car, belonging to the others, is parked a yard away from them with headlights bathing the scene before her. Nicky is holding the killer in place, a white man of no distinguishable features, while Andy vents what Nile hopes is the last of her frustration into a punch to his stomach. The man crumples instantly, whimpering as he falls to the ground and makes no further attempts at movement. Andy pivots around fiercely and makes a beeline for Nile.
"Are you hurt?" she demands when she gets there, seemingly oblivious to the silliness the question itself poses. Her hand shoots out to grasp Nile firmly by the chin and she tilts the young woman's head to both sides as if inspecting her for damage.
"Just my pride." Nile replies. "Andy, I-"
"There's some blood on the back of her jacket," Joe provides, ignoring Nile's second glower in as many minutes. "Asshole must have hit her before tying her up in the back of the car."
Andy nods, judiciously adding the observation to her mental list of information. She releases Nile and just stands there evaluating her. Eventually, she looks back at the killer and Nicky keeping watch over him. "Alright, so what do you want to do with him?"
"Excuse me?" Nile isn't sure she heard Andy right. The other woman turns back, her face an iron mask forged over centuries.
"You have two choices," she replies. "Either we lock him in that trunk and have Copley tip off the police, or we kill him. You decide."
"I deci- what do you mean I decided? What are the cops going to do with him?" Andy isn't giving her anything, so she tries another approach. "Cops needs evidence, Andy."
"Well, there's plenty of that." Joe mutters, receiving a glare from their boss this time. He glances downward, genuinely admonished, as Andy turns her attention back to Nile.
"So we kill him?" She asks.
Nile opens her mouth and closes it again. She knows this is some kind of test, but what she can't figure is what Andy is trying to figure out. Given the choice, Nile knows she doesn't want to murder anybody. But the cops were slow and someone needed to do something. Glancing up at Joe, who was stubbornly avoiding her eyes, she takes a leap of faith.
"Let's put him in the trunk." She says and relaxes when she sees Andy do the same. "The last free experience he gets should be what his victims saw."
"Good." Andy motions to Nicky, who picks up the killer, dragging him over to the group. The man is still whimpering, snot bubbling along the sides of his face. His eyes fill with hatred as he sees Nile followed by sudden confusion.
"But you were-" he starts before Nicky non-to-gently shoves him into the trunk of his car and slams the hood shut on him. He turns to Nile, wrapping her in a tight hug.
"I'm very glad you are safe." he whispers in her ear before pulling back to slide an arm around Joe's waist.
"Me too." The other man agrees, returning the gesture with a sad smile. He looks back at Nile. "Though, I really don't appreciate you ruining our honeymoon."
"I thought this was supposed to be a mission for Copley?" Andy's jibe has little fire to it. That, of course, doesn't prevent Joe from blanching and Nile can't stop a snort of laughter that teeters toward the edge of hysterical. If the others notice, they make no mention of it. Instead Joe stumbles out a excuse to it being both as they walk back to the car. Nile slides into the back seat and is surprised when Nicky and Joe flank her on both sides. Andy pauses at the driver side door only to drop the killer's car keys to the ground at her feet.
They drive for hours. Nile drifts into that place between sleep and waking, drained by the adrenaline that's since leached out of her yet tethered by the safety of the two men at her side. They had explained how they had begun searching for her four days ago. Andy had called them immediately when Nile hadn't disembarked and been on her way to Chicago an hour later. Copley provided her location by tracing the number of her current cell phone.
"So why didn't you make contact?" Nile asked, a little impressed by the accuracy of her predictions. She didn't mention it though for fear the three would think they were becoming too predictable.
"I assume I saw the same news report you did." Andy glanced at her through the rear-view mirror. "The girls...I remembered you telling me about the neighborhood you grew up in."
"I think what Andy means to say is, you remind her a lot of herself," said Nicky, keeping his attention fixed at the lack of view outside his window. "Once we found you, it wasn't hard to guess at what you were doing. We figured you'd let us know if you needed help."
Nile's stomach rolled with embarrassment. "Then how did you know about the guy or that I was taken in the first place?"
Nicky turned around, his eyes momentarily flicking up to look at Joe and then back to her.
"While you were looking for him, he was watching you," he said. "And we were watching him."
They would do the same for you. Andy had once told her. A promise made in the same breathe as she prepared to confront Nicky and Joe's captor. A promise fulfilled and, Nile realized, would be filled again. For as long as any of them still breathed.
It takes her a moment to recognize the street they're on as Andy pulls the car up to the curve. Unconsciously, her eyes drift upward, spotting the light still on in the third floor west corner apartment. Her heart hurts again as she looks back to Andy, unable to voice the question currently choking her. Andy smiles sadly before pulling out her phone and dialing a number. She puts the phone on speaker.
"Hello? Who is this?" Nile's breath shudders at the sound of her mom's voice on the line. Intellectually, she knows Copley's must have given it to Andy; but she can't quite reconcile her two worlds together. "Hello?"
"My name is Sergeant Troy, ma'am," Andy's voice turns professional and sincere all at the same time. "I apologize for calling at this late hour, but we're having to work around a difference in time zone. I served with your daughter, Nile Freeman."
"Oh...I see. Sergeant, I-"
"I just wanted to extend my personal condolences for your loss," Andy beats her to the punch and winces at the sharp pain in Nile's face. "And to let you know she was one of the best and kindest woman I've ever had the pleasure of commanding."
Time slows to a stop for Nile in the pause before her mother answers. When she speaks again, it's brittle but held together by a strength Nile's spent her whole life trying to emulate. "Thank you, Sergeant. That's...It's good to here
Andy continues, her tone soft. Treading carefully so as not to cause too much pain. "I also know she loved you and her brother very much."
"And we love her."
It takes the last of Nile's strength not to snatch the phone from Andy's hand. Instead, she digs her nails into Nicky and Joe's arms and closes her eyes against the torrent of emotions running through her. It hurts like a bitch, but she understands. The gift Andy's given her is something priceless. A chance to hear her mother say she loves her one last time and to know her mom actually will be fine. In this moment, Nile commits to never losing this memory. No matter how many millenia she lives. No matter how long she will outlive Andy or may outlive Joe, Nicky, and Booker. This moment here will always be remember.
Andy pauses the reverent amount of time before concluding, "Well, I felt you needed to hear that. I'll let you get back to whatever it is you were doing. Sorry for disturbing you, ma'am. Good night."
"Thank you, Sergeant Troy...Good night."
The line disconnects and silence fills the car. Nicky and Joe each hold Nile's hand, respectively, neither complaining as she grasps onto them for dear life. Andy says nothing but looks as though she's about to apologize.
"Don't!" The word comes out harsher than Nile intends, stopping Andy in her tracks. She softens it with a simple, "Thank you."
Andy smiles. It's a scarred, wretched sort of thing but all Nile can see is the depth of understanding carried with it.
"You ready?" Andy asks. Nile takes in a breath.
"Whenever you are, Boss."
"Good answer."